Irremeable (chained with white flowers)
by Swamy
Summary: Arthur wanted to hold on to his feelings for Gwen, yet in front of him there was only Morgana, and his ineluctable destiny.


Arthur inhaled deeply while he stayed sitting on his bed, one naked foot on the light blanket and the other resting on the rug. He brought his right hand to massage the opposite shoulder and tilted his head to both sides to stretch the muscles of his neck.

From the ajar window came a light breeze, which was not enough to get him cold even though he wore nothing else aside from his trousers.

He grinned, closing his eyes, anticipating the pleasure of a warm bath and remembering the loving look Gwen had directed at him that afternoon.

Forgetting the obstacle made by her fleeting encounter with Lancelot, all that had remained was Camelot and its ties. And he himself was the embodiment of both, letting him feel the sweet sensation of being the center of the world for the young servant and the object of her looks and thoughts.

The feeling towards her had come unexpected and sudden, and he had readily embraced it, sure that his interest in such a lonely and poor creature could only be so strong because it was true love.

The noise produced from the opening of his chamber doors distracted him but didn't make him turn. Merlin had gone to fetch the water to ready his bath, and even if it surprised him greatly that he had managed to be so fast – considering his slowness and the frailness of his body – he hadn't decided yet if to show his surprise openly, indirectly complimenting him on his efficiency, or let the event slide past.

His good mood was about to push him towards the first option when the door to his bedroom was opened with such fury that he stood up immediately to turn around and reprimand the disrespectful manner of the intruder. But when he stood, the surprise of seeing Morgana – so livid to the point of having forgotten any sense of propriety or prudency to break into his private room wearing only a light nightgown and a robe of which the belt was loose enough that it fell graciously on the pavement mere seconds later – took away any protest, leaving him with a cut off question, "Morgana, what-"

She looked at him like she could now discern a deformity she never saw before.

"How could you?" she asked before he could even finish his question. Her voice sounded angry and bitter, and Arthur could not find its cause. He was only glad that her presence in his bedroom, in attire so convenient to male passion, was not undoing him as he had feared for a long time. And for a moment he held tight to the idea of Gwen, almost rejoicing at the prospect that his affections for the girl were making him immune to Morgana's allure. Though, she could still hit a nerve every time she looked at him with something akin to disappointment.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he replied after a few moments of silence.

She shook her head, incredulous, and her raven hair fluttered like seaweed at the bottom of the sea against her pale skin in what was an almost hypnotic movement. For a moment, Arthur nearly forgot about their discussion. Her eyes were burning with a painful fire which was illuminating her disappointed expression as she said, "Gwen," and was giving a name to what was distressing her so.

"Gwen told me everything. How could you?" she asked again, "Indulging this way in a passion that will bring her infamy and will break her heart. Don't you understand? Don't you think about what will come of her if anyone should ever come to find out about it? Do you desire for her to become another of the unfortunate girls that had to face disgrace to pay for the short attention received in your bed?"

He was surprised by such words, offended and ready to reply but she did not give him a chance to. "And do you really think I could let you do that without protest, abandoning my friend to the instability of your whims? If you think so, you're mad, more obtuse that I ever though!"

There was a tiny part of him – a part he had gotten better and better at ignoring – that protested at her words, for he had one affection that could never be swayed despite how hard he tried. One constant discomfort, since he could remember, that he could never get rid of. She had been the source of it all his life and now she dared to deny him capability of any loyalty and honor.

But now there was Gwen, and he could make her turn her head and see his worth, and she could make him forget his folly.

He took a breath, hardening his expression. "If I didn't know it's the love you have for her brining you here to pontificate about my feelings, I wouldn't be so understanding while you speak of things that do not concern you." It still tastes like a lie on his tongue. Once he was very conscious that every girl he bedded was entangled about him because he was trying to drive away the thought of her, or bring it closer.

She was looking at him warily, her breath labored by her tirade which now forced her chest to rise and fall in short movements while she tried to regain the breath she had lost. He was angry enough to avoid staring.

"To bring dishonor upon Gwen is the very last of my intentions; and about that, I hope you will feel reassured." He explained calmly, "But I am glad about your visit, for it reassures me that she returns my feelings." He let his mouth curve in an almost childish smile to make her see his happiness at the thought. "My feelings for her are true, and I don't doubt their steadfastness. I'm not foolish enough to not see the obstacles on our path but I don't doubt there will come a day when I'll have her next to me, to honor her like she deserves."

He spoke with transport, suddenly sure of his words, like the force he always uses to win Morgana in their arguments had poured into his feelings making Gwen the only one.

Morgana tightened her hands around the fabric of her nightgown, holding his gaze. She felt like her whole body was nothing else but a thin string whose far ends were being pulled to the maximum and was threatening to break. The blood was flowing away and her brain was trying to hold on to a lucidity that she feared was only illusory.

"Morgana…" Arthur's soft voice seemed like an insidious attack, the fatal one, and when she heard the words, spelled with the same inflection children use when they promise they'll be good, "I think I might love her." Her face turned like she had just been slapped.

Arthur – so often blind – could not realize the effect of what he had declared, distracted by the window that had opened with a sudden violence, though there was no wind outside, had blown up making the pieces of glass fly in every direction. Instinctively Arthur went to Morgana, to shield her, who had not moved at all aside from turning her face to watch the scene in horror.

"Morgana, are you alright?" he asked, holding her by the shoulders while she continued to stare at the metal frame of the window. The prince turned to see what she was looking at then turned again to call on her attention and reassure her, "It must have been a gush of wind."

Morgana nodded, trying to hold onto his lie. The wind that night was so weak it could have hardly moved a dead leaf. Despite this she kept on nodding while he asked, "Are you all right?" and didn't take his hands away from her, needing to make sure she was unharmed and giving her the sensation of being trapped by his courtesy, his nakedness – now so unanswerable – and the indifference of his feelings for her.

While Gwen told her, between shy and guilty smiles, and melancholic sighs, the nature of her new relationship with Arthur, Morgana had let the worry for her friend and interest for her wellbeing be called upon by her reason, and she had let those feelings become the shield behind which she hid the motive of her anger. But now that Arthur had disarmed her with the conviction with which he had spoken and with his noble intentions he had adduced, nothing was left in her but a cutting pain in the middle of her chest which forced her to recognize a truth she had denied for many years and that was now commanding her to yield.

"What is happening?" Uther's voice, thundering with outrage, made them turn around and Arthur tore himself away from her, taking away the last semblance of balance. To Morgana, standing on her own legs seemed so impossible that for a few moments she couldn't listen to the King's reproaching. Listening and standing on her won legs were suddenly two tasks that excluded each other.

When she managed to look at him and offer her attention. Uther – called by the noise made by the broken window – was already fully taken by his reprimanding, so when he asked, "What explanation do you have in your defense?" she couldn't even tell what she was supposed to justify herself for.

Arthur stole a glance at her though he kept facing his father.

"Morgana needed to discuss something with me, father," he replied, calm and formal, like the situation they had been caught in was innocent from any perspective.

"Ah, really?" replied the King with a voice full of sarcasm, "And what is this matter of such gravity that must be discussed in the bedroom of a gentleman while he is practically _naked_!" he accused while Arthur tried to conceal the embarrassment and the equivocation of the situation behind a façade of composure.

Morgana tried to quickly come up with a reasonable explanation, knowing well that if the real reason should be known, Gwen would have been removed from the castle. Her own loneliness and Arthur's grudge would have been caused by her alone, and the mere thought was unbearable. She had to get on top of this, come up with something, to not – ironically – be the person whom had betrayed those she held dearest. But she couldn't find an explanation to offer.

"You have at least the decency to keep quiet," Uther said, looking at her with displeasure.

"Though, I am not able to give a reason that will suffice and justify my rashness, I can guarantee, my Lord, that appearances are leading you to error," she promptly replied with all the dignity she had.

Uther appeared to consider her words, and doubt his own ideas. "Even if it were so, Morgana," he said her name in a tone that sounded indulgent, "I can't ignore what I saw," he said, looking at his son, his eyes turning irritated once again.

"I will take responsibility for it, Father," Arthur stepped in, formally. His tone and his empty condescension made Morgana's blood boil in her veins. For the first time since he had shared with her his feelings for Gwen, she didn't feel dominated by bleakness but by sheer rage generated from pain. It gave her, for a short-lived moment, the impression of being able to oppose her heart and the blindness of her affection for such a proud and oblivious man.

"I have no need of your protection," she replied outraged, making him turn towards her.

"If you are so eager to spend a night in the dungeons, you are welcome to it. I have been told rats are great company," he retorted, irked by the way she rejected his help. Any woman would have felt touched by his words, but he could never impress her.

"I'm sure of it, but then again, if compared to yours, it cannot be any other way," she replied curving her lips in a grimace of irony.

"Enough!" Uther interrupted them, irritated by their childish attitudes in such a serious situation. "You will _both_ take responsibility for this the only way two noble-born, as you two are, can. You will remedy the honor you have so imprudently dirtied. I have no intention of giving Camelot a king that will treat the respectability of a lady with such carelessness, nor let the daughter of Gorlois – my own ward – being pushed to ignominy and shame."

Morgana looked at him incredulously while her sharp mind had already led her to the inevitable conclusion of that discussion. Arthur, instead, stood still, trying to discern a new clue that would help him fully understand his father intentions. So, it took him a few moments to realize what the King's words really meant when his father concluded, "I expect, from you both, the maturity that you sadly did not give proof to possess, in healing the dishonor you have caused to your name and mine, the only possible way. I pray to God that no one will ever know what happened tonight. In a week from today you two will be joined in holy matrimony, and that is final."

"But-"

"That is _final!_ " he rebutted with such force that his voice thundered around them.

Arthur and Morgana watched his back as the King left, and with him any possibility of being released from their destiny. Only then did they notice Merlin's presence, immobile at the open door of the bedroom, clearly confused and almost completely wet with the water – now tepid – that he had brought up for the prince's bath.

Uther almost bumped him as he left the room, unconcerned by his presence. Morgana lowered her eyes, drawn to thoughts and visions of a future that had nothing to do with premonitions and magic. Arthur passed his hand through his blonde hair, muttering, "Damn!"

The course their lives had suddenly taken was faced with a ravine that threatened to swallow everything.

The prince heard Morgana murmuring a feeble, 'It can't be,' and he didn't turn to look at her while he gave her faint reassurance. "I'll try to make him change his mind. He'll see that only a fool could ever think there's something improper between us. Ours would surely be the least successful and the most fruitless marriage in the history of my family's reign," he said, trying to sound unconcerned at the prospect of failing his purpose.

Morgana ignored the knot in her throat, and replied, "Right," before leaving the room. It seemed as though she could not breathe and she was tempted to flee to free herself from the invisible vise that was strangling her, but doing so would have been like a confession that – though Arthur wouldn't know how to interpret – would have hunted her down for the rest of her days, tearing away her mask of pride and any hope for control.

"Morgana," came Merlin's gentle voice as she stood in the adjoining room of Arthur's quarters, which he used to consume his meals. She counted the seconds until he spoke again. "You're… hurt."

"You're wrong," she replied, "Arthur is right for once. This marriage would be a folly, and I'd rather die than marry him." She felt relieved when she felt all the bitterness and the truthfulness of her words. The thought of being bound to him – him, so blind and stupid and insensitive – whipping up her spirit, and she felt like she could scream her resentment at that order for days.

"No, I meant, your neck…" he said, coming closer while she lowered her eyes and found, with her fingers, a cut at the base of her neck. The tip of her index finger was wet with blood. "It's nothing," she dismissed it, knowing there was a larger wound in her that would never stop bleeding.

She tried to smile at him with kindness and he looked at her dumbfounded, because even though he could look upon her every day for a year, Lady Morgana had never appeared so accessible and defenseless as she did in that moment.

He stood there, trying to untangle himself from that feeling as she left, and ignored the thud produced by the prince that abandoned his weight on his bed.

Arthur fixed his eyes on the ceiling, trying to find relief in his back hitting the feather mattress, but it seemed he was freefalling into the unknown.

In front of him there was only Morgana, and his ineluctable destiny.


End file.
